SCREAM Your Heart Out
by raven612
Summary: Sherlock struggles through the last moments of John's life. Established S/J.
1. The Beginning of the End

**SCREAM Your Heart Out**

**By:** Raven612

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters of songs and I will not profit off of them. They all belong to their rightful places.

**Summary:** There are precious few moments left before Sherlock's heart beats its last and then it will be no more. Established J/H. Very sad!

**A/N:** So, I am feeling rather evil today and have decided to write a painfully sad fic for everyone. I'm not sure where the inspiration came from, but it has settled in and now I must let it go. Please leave me a review and let me know how you liked it. I really love reviews, they help to keep the evil away ^.^

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><p><em>When our time is up<br>When our lives are done  
>Will we say we've had our fun?<em>

_Will we make a mark this time?_  
><em>Will we always say we tried?<em>

_Standing on the rooftops_  
><em>Everybody scream your heart out.<em>

Rooftops by Lost Prophets

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><p>The last few days had still not prepared the greatest mind of England for what he was facing now. There existed nothing on the face of the earth that could prepare <em>anyone<em> for losing some that they loved so fiercely. Sherlock had looked, oh yeas he had, he had looked for anything to help him and to help John, but there was nothing. There doesn't exist a more painful word, according to Sherlock, than the word nothing.

_"There's __nothing__ we can do."_

_ "__Nothing__ can cure him."_

_ "__Nothing__ will help him."_

_ "There's __nothing__ to do now but wait."_

_ "Sherlock, I've told you, there's __nothing__ you or anyone else can do for me."_

Every time Sherlock heard that word it was as if another piece of his heart was taken from his chest. He could feel the way each letter burned its way into his body, the way they seemed to slither around inside of him before finding his heart. Finally they would twist around the muscle until it was almost too painful to breath. Each time a doctor or a nurse said this word to him and to his husband his fists would clench and his jaw would tighten. He never wanted John to see the way this was affecting him because John needed all of his strength. Although that singular word caused Sherlock to feel pain, he could never imagine what it was like to be John and to suffer from the disease.

To be a medical man and to know exactly what was happening to you and not be able to fight it, that must be the worst torture imaginable. Sherlock knew John suffered with those thoughts, he could see the way they played out in his blue eyes. It was when Sherlock saw this that he would sweep his long pale fingers through John's sandy blonde hair. He would lift John's hand to his lips and press a kiss between each knuckle and murmur useless platitudes to help ease the ache in John's chest. John's eyes would flutter and a small smile would appear on his lips. He'd raise his other hand and press it against Sherlock's prominent cheek bone and sweep his thumb across the alabaster skin. Sherlock smiled then because then John was still at _home_ and in _their_ bed.

Now John was in the hospital; a private room thanks to Mycroft. John had battled his disease as well as he could outside of the hospital and Sherlock _knew _this would only quicken John's journey to the end, but Sherlock allowed this because then he could still see _life_ clinging to John. Now in the hospital Sherlock could see the way his body was starting to give up. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand hoping that he could will air into his struggling lungs, and for a moment Sherlock thought it might have worked because John pulled in a deep shuddering breath, but it took him too long to let it out. Sherlock glared. He decided a long time ago that he hated John's lungs, hated them for the little air sacs inside that would fill with fibrotic tissue over the progression of time. Sherlock hated them even more now because they dictated just how long John would remain breathing.

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><p><em>John had come home late from the clinic one night. He wore only a light jacket because the day had been nice, but a snow storm grabbed the city later in the afternoon. John was forced to walk a few blocks before he could hail a cab and get home. All week he'd been feeling sick and it was finally Friday. He was looking forward to a nice weekend at home with Sherlock, granted the detective remained case free. These thoughts moved through John's body and brought warmth to his joints and muscles. He slid into the cab with a warm smile, the cabby mistook it for friendly when really it was predatory and directed towards the man John currently had on his mind. The cab ride home was longer than usual due to the fact that everyone driving seemed to go nutty and lose their brains as snow fell on the city. John cursed the drivers in the back of his head and leaned forward with a shuddering cough into his hand. He hacked for quite some time before breath finally wheezed into his lungs. John slumped back and closed his eyes as he caught his breath. Sherlock had been on his arse to see a doctor and John ignored him. <em>He_ was a doctor and bloody well knew what he had and knew that medicine and rest would make him right as rain._

_ "Sherlock?" he called as he opened the door to their flat. He patted his arms to clear them of the fine dusting of snow and stomped his feet on the rug. "Sherlock," he called again and peeled his coat from his body. He sneezed and a shiver raced down his spine. John sighed and straightened his spine to ease the ache his lungs were starting to feel. The sooner he could get over this cold the better._

_ John's blue eyes darted around the flat trying to spot his eccentric partner, but he didn't seem to be anywhere. John frowned. He took out his phone and looked at it. He didn't have any new messages. He furrowed his brows. It wasn't likely Sherlock had a case because he would have texted John to meet him and likely with Bart's, if Sherlock had gone there to do a few experiments he would have let John know. John shrugged, he was used to the oddities of Sherlock by now so he knew not to worry too much, he would show up sometime or at least let John know if something serious did arise. John moved into the kitchen then and rummaged in the fridge and pulled out the few things in there that were edible. He set them all on the counter and then doubled over into another coughing fit. He could feel the mucus in his lungs, but no matter how hard his body worked to dispel it nothing ever came forth._

_ "You should see a doctor John," a deep baritone rumbled behind the doctor._

_ John jumped and turned to face the tall pale man, "Jesus Sherlock, don't sneak up on me like that," he scolded between coughs._

_ Sherlock frowned and pushed his frame from the doorway and entered the kitchen. He walked up to John and looked down at him. He uncrossed his arms and settled the back of one hand on John's head, "You don't have a fever," he remarked and slowly moved his hand away to cup one side of John's face._

_ John shot him a glare and pulled his head from his hand, "I know Sherlock; I _told_ you that I have a little cold. It should be gone in a few more days, I'm already feeling better than the past few days," he told Sherlock with a slow and knowing smile._

_ Sherlock shivered and nodded his head, "Fine, if you are not well in a few more days then _please_ see a doctor," he conceded as he slipped his long arms around John's waist and pulled the shorter man into him. Sherlock always seemed to get his way when he used to word please with John, it was like his own personal treat._

_ John grinned up at him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock in answer, "Alright mummy, I promise," John teased before pushing up on tip toes to claim Sherlock's lips in a soul searing kiss._

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><p>That conversation replayed itself again and again in Sherlock's head because now, after the fact, he knew how petty and useless it was. There was <span>nothing<span> they could do to save John. After another week John allowed Sherlock to drag him to the A&E. In that week John had lost his appetite and had started to complain of chest pains. Sherlock did not like the fact that John was in _any _pain. The disease would only worsen and Sherlock could do nothing but support John in any way the doctor needed it.

That first doctor's visit left a sour taste in Sherlock's mouth because the useless female had filled him and John with false hope. She had told them that it was pneumonia and that with lots of rest and fluids he should be better within a week. She then prescribed John some antibiotics and ordered him on bed rest for a week to help ease the pressure and exertion on his lungs. John accepted her diagnosis because he had come up with the same thing on his own. He shot a glare at Sherlock that said _told you so_. Sherlock had shrugged, he was just happy to know what was wrong with John and that John would be okay in a week.

John wouldn't be okay in a week. After the long week of antibiotics, fluids, rest, and food forced down his throat, John was no better. He was still about the same, but because of his disinterest in food he had dropped a few pounds. Sherlock did not like this, not one bit. It also alarmed Sherlock that even after a whole week of bed rest John still felt tired and weary, he could hardly even manage the walk from their room to the kitchen. Something serious was wrong with John and Sherlock hated that he didn't know what it was, but he could see John trying to diagnose himself and struggled with it between wakefulness and sleep. It was early morning in January when Sherlock knew that John had finally figured out his ailment and Sherlock could tell by the rigid way that John was holding himself that it wouldn't be good news.

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><p><em>Early Monday mornings in January were always particularly nasty in London. Sherlock had been up most of the night watching John. The doctor had a slight wheeze when he slept and every once in a while he'd seem to struggle for breath. Sherlock was worried that John would stop breathing altogether in his sleep so he kept a vigil. He ran his fingers through the short blonde hair and whispered endearments and pressed kisses to various places on John's face and neck hoping the actions would stop the shudder of his chest. John murmured sleepy replies to Sherlock, and snuggled closer to him but never came fully awake when Sherlock spoke to him. He'd nestle his head under Sherlock's chin and clutch his long body closer to his much shorter one. Sherlock would allow a smile to grace his face in these moments because somehow he knew they would be numbered, but he never believed the thought. Soon he drifted into a light sleep curled protectively around John. A few moments later John woke and started to cough. Sherlock roused next to him and his limbs moved off of John as he pushed himself into a seated position with his back resting against the headboard. He had his eyes squeezed shut as the dry coughs scraped out of his throat. Sherlock could only watch and run his hand soothingly along John's back in hopes that he was comforting the doctor.<em>

_ "John?" Sherlock ventured as the coughs came a bit slower and less harshly. His grey eyes blinked as he ducked his head to catch John's blue orbs._

_ John turned away from him, "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered as his head hung lowered._

_ Sherlock blinked. John had nothing to be sorry for. Sherlock furrowed his brows and pulled himself up some so that he could gently grab John's face in both of his hands, he lifted the doctor's head to force him to meet his gaze. Sherlock almost gasped, "John…"_

_ John blinked back the tears he could feel in his eyes and gently shook his head, "It's not good Sherlock…not good at all," came his wet whisper._

_ Sherlock clenched his jaw, damn him for knowing exactly what John was telling him, "John…tell me," was his tight reply._

_John pulled in a shuddering breath and brought his hands up to cup Sherlock's on his face, hot salty tears rolled down unbidden to land on Sherlock's slender fingers, "It's Ideopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis," he said._

_Sherlock blinked. He'd never heard of this before, but surely there was a cure…there was a cure for nearly everything imaginable. "Well good, now you know what afflicts you so you can get better drugs," he said to John and was feeling a bit more relieved now. _

_John would be okay, John would stop his coughing fits and he would be okay again. _

_Sherlock smiled._

_John shook his head, "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered again and he forced the silent part of his message to gain ground in Sherlock's brain._

_Sherlock blinked and slowly shook his head, "No John…no…don't lie to me, for God's sake do not lie to me. There is a cure, there has to be a cure or a treatment," he pleaded, his hands tightening some on the doctor's face._

_John managed a weak and sad smile with the shaking of his head, "No Sherlock. The disease is so rare that the drugs they are developing are still in the experimental stages."_ _ Sherlock's eyes lighted a bit when John said 'experimental.' _

_"But there are drugs and they could work?"_

_John sighed and pulled his head from Sherlock's grasp and wiped the tears away, "All the drugs would do now is provide a few more months un-"_

_"But they could work," Sherlock said seizing his opportunity._

_John gave him a look and Sherlock shrank back from it; it was a look of pity. "I'm sorry Sherlock," he whispered for the third and final time._

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><p>Sherlock blinked slowly. That conversation was months ago. He'd pleaded desperately with John to find the treatment that would cure him because Sherlock was selfish and he couldn't grasp the fact that some disease had taken up residence in <em>his <em>partner's chest and was slowly killing him. Sherlock then dove head first into research on the disease in hopes that he could find something the scientists and doctors were missing because they had to be missing something, they just had to be. He devoted hours upon hours researching and testing before John told him to stop. Sherlock listened; he stopped his work because he wanted John to be happy, wanted the man he loved to be as happy as he could for as long as he could be.

A shudder worked down Sherlock's spine, he'd never imagined that his time with john was limited, never imagined that he'd only have a little over two years to spend with the one human who existed to make Sherlock feel anything. The only human in the world that could reduce Sherlock to nothing more than tears and silent prayers; the only human who could then build the man up like he was a conquering hero. Heroes didn't exist though. Sherlock knew that, and that's why he always knew that no matter what he did, what he offered to God, to Jesus, to the Devil would ever be enough to make John well again. Sherlock just couldn't find what it was that any deity that may exist wanted in exchange for John's life…not even his own life would do. Sherlock would be more than happy to give away his breaths, give away his mind, and give away his existence if it could prolong that of John's good, whole, and happy existence on earth. The world needed more John Watson's; not Sherlock Holmes. The world could still spin without Sherlock, but Sherlock doubted it could continue spinning without John Watson; he knew his world would stop when John was gone…there were no two ways about it.

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><p><em>"John, I think you need to be aware…given certain events that have transpired in the past few weeks that I do not intend to continue living once you are gone," Sherlock announced one morning casually as his eyes skimmed the newspaper.<em>

_John snorted and shook his head, "You're too proud to do such a thing Sherlock and dare I say…egotistical?" John offered with a raised brow and slight grin._

_Sherlock glared at the paper before lowering it so that John could see the look on his face, "Wrong. I'm not egotistical John. I'm selfish and I refuse to live without you."_

_John glared, but somehow he knew this was how Sherlock felt because he was very selfish. John sucked in a deep breath but it sent him into a small coughing fit. Sherlock started to rise from his chair but John motioned for him to sit. After the coughing subsided John got up from his chair. He looked frighteningly calm as he walked over to Sherlock. Sherlock grinned up at him expecting something sweet; John slapped him right across the cheek; hard. Sherlock was stunned. The slap didn't hurt so much in a physical sense as it hurt in an emotional sense._

_"Sherlock Holmes, I will not tolerate such talk from you. You will not…do you _hear_ me…_will not_ in any way, shape, or form harm yourself after I am gone. I have accepted that my allotted time on earth is nearing an end, but I will not accept such an act from you. The only way that I am okay with this is that I know you will continue on after I am gone. You will continue to challenge yourself and to use that brain inside of your skull because the world needs you to do that; _I _need you to do that. Can you promise me that?"John hadn't noticed the silent tears falling down his cheeks, not until Sherlock reached up and wiped them away with his thumbs._

_ "Will you hate me John if I can't promise you that?" he asked the doctor quietly._

_ John looked at him, studied his grey eyes and the storm that was rolling inside of them, inside of his long and lean body. John blinked, tears falling again and he raised his arm to wipe them away, "I could never hate you Sherlock," he finally said in a broken whisper._

_Sherlock nodded and maneuvered John to stand between his knees. Sherlock looked up at him and John gazed down. His blue eyes swam with tears. Sherlock hated to see that. He gently tugged on John's arm to make him sit on his thigh. Sherlock cupped John's face. "I love you," he whispered and rested his forehead against John's and gently closed his eyes._

_John closed his eyes too and lifted his hands to gently grasp Sherlock's ebony curls on either side of his skull. John nodded and his body shuddered with a silent sob as he pulled Sherlock's head down and pressed his lips firmly in the curls, "I know," he whispered and slid his hands down to cup Sherlock's face and raised it so that he could meet the detective's gaze. "So help me…I love you too Sherlock. So bloody much it hurts," John confessed before he angled Sherlock's head and pressed their lips together. _

_Sherlock wound his arms around John's waist and crushed their bodies together as he answered John's hungry kiss. A moan was swallowed in Sherlock's mouth as his tongue danced with John's. Sherlock could never get enough of the man he loved. He could never get enough kisses or feel enough skin or taste enough of him, of John, to satisfy himself. Sherlock always wanted, always needed more. _**_More John. Always more John._**_ John scraped his teeth along Sherlock's bottom lip; this elicited a moan from deep within the detective's chest and John grinned. He loved being pressed so close to Sherlock that he could feel _everything _the man did. John moved his fingers back up to tangle in Sherlock's curls as his tongue scrapped across the top of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock shuddered and arched his back pressing their hips together. John grinned. He loved to reduce Sherlock to a hot and pliable mass of sex._

_ "Not here John…bedroom," Sherlock rasped as he pulled his head back to pull in breaths and to allow John to breath._

_John shuddered as his lungs struggled to fill with enough oxygen. He'd learned to mask this action so as to not cause Sherlock unneeded worry. John smiled, "I couldn't agree more," he whispered and ducked his head to gently nibble Sherlock's sensitive ear lobe._

_Sherlock growled low in his throat and his hips raised in an attempt to create friction, "John," he grumbled by way of warning. He felt John grin against his ear. Sherlock's arms tightened possessively around John and he rose from his chair in one fluid motion. John had lost a bit of weight, a fact Sherlock didn't like, but it made the smaller doctor all the more easier to carry. Sherlock hadn't known he'd like the activity so much until he'd tried it, now he was looking for excuses to carry John around the flat. He loved it because it made the doctor closer to him and Sherlock wanted to believe that by being so close to him he'd force life into John._

_"Sherlock," John moaned into the detective's ear before running his hot tongue along the outer shell. John grinned when he heard Sherlock curse and pick up his pace. John would only admit this to Sherlock, but he enjoyed being carried by the detective. Something about the way Sherlock's long arms felt underneath him provided him with a false sense of security, like if he could remain within the detective's grasp he wouldn't die._

_ "John…God John," Sherlock moaned and kicked the door of their bedroom open. He strode over to the bed and deposited the doctor onto it. Sherlock stood back to admire his lover as John crawled up the bed and settled on his back. He had learned a few weeks back that he was not allowed to undress himself; only Sherlock was allowed this small pleasure. John smiled at Sherlock, the smile that always made his knees buckle. Sherlock shivered and kicked his slippers off._

_"Sherlock," John pleaded as he started to wiggle on the bed. He wanted…no he _needed_ to feel the detective on him…inside of him. He needed the contact. His fists clenched and unclenched beside him as she fought the urge to shoot up and grab the lapels of Sherlock's robe and pull him down onto the bed._

_Sherlock grinned a predatory grin. He slowly peeled the robe away from his shoulders. He slanted his shoulders a bit so that the silk could easily travel down his pale arms and pool around his feet. Sherlock did not break his gaze from John's. Another shiver worked its way down the detective's spine as John licked his lips and moaned. Sherlock grinned as his cock twitched within his pajama pants. Next he gripped the bottom of his night shirt and slowly dragged it up his chest. He let his cool knuckles scrap across his skin as the material moved up. Sherlock gasped and shivered again. He threw the shirt mercilessly to the floor. _

_ John couldn't take it anymore. His breath hitched and he was afraid for a second that he would start coughing again and ruin everything, but thankfully he didn't. His chest did hurt, but he ignored it. No pain in the world would keep him from his detective. He grinned at Sherlock and placed a hand on his own chest just below his collar bone. His look was challenging as he slowly slid his hand down his torso._

_"John…" Sherlock warned his voice heavy with lust. His grey eyes tore from John's mirthful blue ones to watch the doctor's hand fall lower onto his abdomen. Sherlock licked his lips. With a growl he moved towards the bed and climbed on. He was kneeling next to John. He settled his gaze back on John's face. Sherlock reached down and gently grabbed John's wrist to still his movements, "My job," he said before lowering his lips against John's._

_John's hands came up to fist in Sherlock's curls. He pressed the detective's head against his own as he melded their lips together. John opened his mouth willingly to the detective's probing tongue. John moaned under the man and arched his back as his grip tightened on Sherlock's curls. Sherlock moaned and slid his hand along the path John's hand had made only moments ago. When Sherlock's hand came to the end of John's shirt he traced his index finger along the sliver of skin that was exposed between his shirt and the edge of his pants. John shivered at the contact and pressed his pelvis into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock grinned as he dominated the kiss. His tongue moved over each of John's teeth to pick up every taste he could. John shuddered when Sherlock's fingers dipped into the waistband of his pajama pants. They followed the heat that radiated from John's hard cock._

_Sherlock leaned back to allow the doctor time to breath, "My John…my beautiful and good John," Sherlock whispered as he kissed a tender line along John's jaw to his neck. John moaned and tilted his head in the opposite direction to give Sherlock as much access to his neck as he could. Sherlock grinned and traced his tongue along the tendon in John's neck. He dipped his hand into the molten heat between John's legs and wrapped his agile fingers around the doctor's cock._

_"Ah, God Sherlock," John moaned and raised his hips. His blue eyes fluttered before they finally closed against the feelings of bliss at having Sherlock's fingers around his hungry cock. His fingers fell from Sherlock's hair to grip the sheets beneath his writhing body. "Sherlock please," John forced out in a strained whisper. His hips were moving in tandem with Sherlock's stroking but he needed to taste the man._

_Sherlock sucked the skin between John's neck and shoulder between his teeth and bit it. He wanted to leave a mark, a mark to let anyone know that John was his and no one else's, no matter what John's body was doing to him. Sherlock pressed a few more kisses against the column of John's throat before falling away. John groaned and watched as Sherlock picked up one knee and settled it on the other side of John's body. John stared up at him with a look of pure lust and want._

_ "Sherlock," he rasped and reached for the detective. Sherlock grinned and leaned back a little. He still had his fingers wrapped around John. He slid them up John's cock and then moved his thumb across the head of his member and pressed down right in the center. Sherlock felt it give a happy twitch. He always felt proud when he could elicit such actions from John._

_"John," Sherlock moaned back. He would commit this morning to his memory just as he did with all moments with John. He would catalog them and file them away into the part of his brain where nothing was ever deleted. He would hold onto these moments and use them to help him though the tough times to come. He would need them to survive until John would take his last breath._

_"Argh, Sherlock, bloody hell I _need _to touch you," John finally moaned and jerked his hips when Sherlock's thumb swirled the precum around his engorged head. Sherlock grinned down at him and started to slide himself down John's legs. He let go of John's cock and gripped the waistband of his pants. He also caught John's shorts with the pants and pulled them both down at the same time._

_"I _need _to feel you John…that's more important," Sherlock murmured as she dragged his body back up John's. He pressed his chest against John's groin as it moved over his cock. He grinned as he felt a wet line form between his nipples. He raised his arms and pulled John's shirt up his chest and the doctor removed it entirely. Sherlock lowered his head into the pubic hairs that surrounded John's cock. He inhaled the scent that was all John. He moaned and his own cock twitched with want. Sherlock scraped his teeth along the sensitive skin between John's navel and hair. John's hands came down to grip Sherlock's curls. He tried to pull the detective up his body so that he could taste him, but Sherlock refused to budge. He needed to taste John, he needed to remember these tastes, and he needed these things to help ease the ache inside of his chest. He slid his hands gently along John's sides until he reached his chest. He gently ghosted his hands over the doctor's sides until his fingers found the two hard nubs. Sherlock grinned as he dipped his tongue into John's navel and brushed his thumbs across the hard nubs. John gasped and arched his back in an attempt to bring Sherlock's hands closer to his hard nipples._

_"Sherlock PLEASE," he breathed out and his hands twisted in the detective's curls. Sherlock didn't let it faze him. His lips were now slowly working up John's abdomen while his index and thumb pinched and twisted each nipple. John bucked and twisted under him, but Sherlock was an expert in all things John and he knew just how to move to avoid being dislodged by his animated lover. _

_Finally Sherlock had worked himself up John's torso and to his chest so he let his mouth take over on one of John's nipples. Sherlock laved his tongue against John's nipple and scrapped his teeth across it to make John moan hoarsely. This was one of Sherlock's favorite moans, it sounded like sex. His cock twitched again with need. He moaned against John's nipple and felt it vibrate into the man's chest. Sherlock loved this, making John feel good was his favorite past time activity, one he now cherished above all else because his time was limited. He moved his left hand up John's body and along his neck and over his chin and pressed his fingers against his mouth. John gasped and eagerly accepted Sherlock's long digits. He lavished them with his tongue and suckled on them with such force that Sherlock could feel them beginning to become engulfed with blood. He moaned. He started to kiss a line up John's chest as he was now overcome with the urge to taste John again. He removed his fingers from John's mouth and kissed him lightly. Sherlock pulled back as soon as John tried to deepen the kiss. Sherlock grinned at the angered look but because of the need he saw in John's eyes he lowered his head again. John's hands came to the back of his neck and pressed against the pale column. His finger tips danced against Sherlock's neck and eased the tension his muscles carried._

_"I love you so much," Sherlock whispered as he broke the kiss to stare into John's eyes. John blinked up at him and smiled drunkenly. He brought a hand up and caressed the side of Sherlock's face. Sherlock pulled in a shaky breath and his eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch. "God do I need you John," he confessed and nuzzled his head between the doctor's neck and shoulder, "I need you so much," he whispered as he alternated sucking and biting John's skin. "You can't leave me," he pleaded as his fingers tightened on John's hips as if to anchor the man in that spot forever._

_John sighed and brought his hands up to gently run his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He let his nails gently scrap along his scalp, "I know Sherlock and I need you too. I need you to be strong and to be brave," he whispered and bent his head to kiss the unruly curls._

_Sherlock shuddered. He didn't want to respond to that with words so he moved his hips and rubbed his erection against John's. John gasped and ground his hips into Sherlock's. His hands pulled on the sheets as he tried to control the want that coursed hot through his veins. He hissed when he felt a drop of Sherlock's precum hit his balls. Sherlock kept his lips against the pulse point on John's neck as he reached a long arm over to the bedside table and fumbled around until he found the bottle of lube. He pushed himself up onto his knees and grinned down at John as he flicked the cover open. John shivered as he watched a line of lube fall from the bottle and into Sherlock's palm. Sherlock moved his palm then and the line of lube fell onto John's hot and aching cock. John hitched and his hips surged up at the contact of the cool liquid._

_"Jesus Sherlock, stop torturing me already," he demanded. A primal look of hunger flashed through his blue eyes and shivers raced all along Sherlock's spine. Sherlock smirked as he used one hand to snap the cover shut again. He tossed the bottle behind himself uncaring of where it landed. John flashed him a look but it quickly passed when he felt Sherlock's hands stroking him again. He sucked in a breath and arched his hips. He wanted to gain as much contact with Sherlock as he could and Sherlock wanted all the contact he could get. He let out a soft moan as his fingers tightened around John's erection and he pulled his hand upwards. _

_"I need you John," he pleaded again. He ran his thumb over the engorged head of John's cock and very gently scraped his thumb nail along the slit. John shivered and pressed his head back into the pillow beneath his head. His legs bent and he planted his feet firmly onto the mattress. His toes curled into the sheets. "God John, I need you so bad," Sherlock said again and brought his other hand, also slicked with lube, to cup John's balls. He squeezed them and stretched them as his other hand worked on John. He traced his thumb along the line that separated the two halves of John's sac while his thumb on John's cock traced the vein on the underside of him. John whimpered and by the thrusts of his hips Sherlock knew he was close to the end. _

_ "Sherlock, God…I'm about to cum," he wheezed and bucked his hips up._

_Sherlock shook his head, "Not yet John…not yet," he whispered and bent his long torso up to press his lips against John's. John's hands immediately wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders to bind him there while his tongue explored the wet hot cavern of his mouth in search of satisfaction; he could never get enough of the way Sherlock tasted during sex. Sherlock grinned into the kiss and traced the index finger from the hand holding John's balls down to the entrance of him. John shuddered and moaned into Sherlock's mouth as he raised his hips and Sherlock circled his finger around the tight hole. John squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered; begging Sherlock to fill him already. Sherlock grinned and pushed his long finger into him. John's mouth opened into a gasp and his hips bucked as Sherlock began to stretch him. Sherlock soon added a second finger and he curled his fingers up to scrape along John's prostate. John gasped and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sherlock thought he'd come undone right then and there but his soldier held on. Sherlock grinned. He pumped his fingers a few more minutes before the need overwhelmed him. He broke his lips from John's and leaned back. He grasped his cock and slicked it with lube. He stared down at John._

_ John stared back up and Sherlock. He raised his hands to trace them along Sherlock's pallid torso. John couldn't think of anything in his life that he needed more than he needed this man. This wonderful and intelligent man who loved him; God did he need him and God was John a sodding arsehole. He needed this man more than he needed life and he knew Sherlock felt the same way but John wouldn't be there for the rest of Sherlock's life. He smiled up at the detective as he chased the thoughts from his head. He couldn't think like that now. He gripped Sherlock's hips as a way to tell him to hurry the fuck up. Sherlock grinned and pressed his cock against John's opening. He moaned and threw his head back as his head broke through the tightness. He buried himself up to the hilt before he started to move again. His hips jerked him in and out of John. Sherlock's hands fell to grip John's waist. He pushed and pulled on John to his liking before removing one hand to stroke John's hardness again. He needed them to reach the brink of madness together and then to dive over it. He needed them to come in unison. _

_Sherlock grunted as his hips sped up and his hand around John tightened. John gasped and moaned beneath Sherlock. He felt the familiar tightness beginning in his stomach and his balls started to clench. He bit his bottom lip and his hands fell from Sherlock to fist in the sheets. He pulled at the material and his head thrashed to the side. His chest was ablaze with pain and want. His cock was twitching within Sherlock's grasp and his back arched. He was so close, so damn close. He squeezed his eyes shut, "Ahhhh, Sherlock," he managed to sputter in warning._

_Sherlock made an incomprehensible noise as his hips slammed into John's. Only a few more seconds until he would lose himself completely inside of John, he still leaned over John and his back arched as he slammed his hips one last time into John before empting into him. He moaned and felt a hot liquid spray up onto his chest. He crashed his lips against John's and tasted him as he came. There existed nothing better._

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John continued to have sex until a week ago when John didn't wake up one morning. Sherlock had been beside himself with worry. His fingers immediately went to John's neck to feel for a pulse. There had been one, but it was entirely too weak. Sherlock didn't waste time. He got out of bed and called an ambulance. His gut clenched while he sat on the bedside and stared down at his husband as he waited for the paramedics to arrive. He silently willed John to hang on until then.<p>

Throughout the entire ordeal Sherlock had only ever shed tears once and that was in the middle of the night when John was struggling to pull breaths in as he slept. Sherlock was watching the shaky way John's chest would raise and then shudder as it fell. The breaths were too short and quick to be any sort of comfort. Sherlock had been entirely convinced that John was going to leave him that night. He stayed up all night just watching. Sherlock, although it would be the single hardest thing he'd ever have to do, wanted to be there when John took his in his last shuddering breath and not release it. He could feel it inside of him that John was starting to near the end of his journey. Sherlock had been with him through the entire thing and he'd see it out to the end, he had to for his sake and mostly for John's. In the last few months that Sherlock and John had together they did all kinds of things to make John feel alive and one of them would be the single happiest memory Sherlock would keep.

_Sherlock didn't want to take the case, didn't want to take any case that John wouldn't feel well enough to accompany him on, but John had insisted and so Sherlock had done it. He'd left their flat hours ago to help Lestrade with a missing person, a little girl and her mother. Sherlock still hadn't fit all the pieces together yet, but he was pretty sure the paternal grandparents were involved. He had to wait on an experiment to finish before he could come to a sound conclusion and until the experiment was ready he would spend his time with John. _

_Sherlock opened the door to their flat and frowned. It was dark, "John?" he called and draped his scarf on the coat rack._

_"In here Sherlock," came the doctor's voice from the kitchen. _

_Sherlock's gaze narrowed. He could see a bit of light coming from the room but it flickered, almost like a bulb was going dead. He walked towards the kitchen, "John I thi-" he stopped talking when he came to stand in the doorway. He blinked at what he saw._

_ John sat at their completely clean kitchen table and smiled at Sherlock. In front of John sat a romantic dinner for two. There were two long white candles lit and a rose setting on Sherlock's plate. The detective blinked and smiled as he stepped into the room. John got out of his chair and moved around the table and pulled Sherlock's chair out for him. "I've been busy while you were out," John choked. Talking had started to become hard for him now._

_"John…I'm not sure that was smart," Sherlock chided halfheartedly with a grin as he picked up the rose and held it to his nose._

_John grinned and shrugged, "I wanted to do something nice," he muttered and resumed his seat._

_ Sherlock looked up and over at him, he smiled warmly for the doctor's sake, "It looks lovely John…did you have Mrs. Hudson help you?" he asked and placed his rose into the vase in the middle of the table._

_John smiled sheepishly and tucked his napkin against his legs, "She helped clean and she picked up the takewaway I ordered for us," he admitted. _

_Sherlock nodded approvingly. _ _ "Good, I don't want you to work yourself too hard John," he said sternly and unfolded his own napkin._

_John shot him a look and rolled his eyes, "Please Sherlock I…its fine," he quickly amended and reached across the table and lifted the lid to one of the three serving platters. Beneath was Sherlock's favorite curry. John smiled when he looked up at Sherlock. He then nudged a bowl of salad closer to the detective, "at least eat a little of the greens, you get frighteningly too little veggies," John teased._

_Sherlock shot him a look, John ate frighteningly too little but Sherlock wasn't forcing him…yet to clean his plate. He grumbled a bit and reached forward to appease his doctor and scooped a good amount onto his plate. They passed the majority of the meal making pleasant conversation. John inquired about the case and Sherlock inquired about how John was feeling. Sherlock hadn't really been expecting anything too spectacular when dinner ended, but then John rose from his chair and shuffled over to the fridge. Sherlock perked up in his seat to see what John might be grabbing and frowned when he couldn't see. Soon the doctor turned back to the table. He had a cupcake in his hand. He smiled and sat it before Sherlock; there was a candle in it. Sherlock frowned and made a note to kill Mycroft later because that would the only possible way John found out his birthday._

_"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me your birthday Sherlock, it took a lot of begging to get Mycroft to fess up," John teased and lit the candle on the cupcake._

_ "I already made a not to kill him later," Sherlock grumbled and looked up at John._

_John rasped out a weak chuckle and a dry cough echoed from his throat. He waved off Sherlock and grabbed his wine glass to take a swig. "I'm fine, I'm fine, eat your cupcake Sherlock," John urged with a grin._

_Sherlock gave him a look and turned his attention to the sweet morsel. He didn't particularly like sweets, but he'd do it for John. He picked up the little cake and brought it to his mouth and closed his lips around it and bit in. He jerked back though when something hard clanked against his teeth. He pulled out a silver ring and turned to John with a confused look on his face. He blinked when he saw John down on one knee. Sherlock's heart hammered in his chest; he was speechless._

_John smiled warmly as he looked up at him. He gently took the ring from Sherlock's stunned grasp and held it before him, "Sherlock I know I haven't much time left and I know this is the most selfish thing I can ever ask of you but…will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?" John didn't break his gaze. He couldn't, he needed to get across every emotion and thought he was feeling in that moment to Sherlock._

_Sherlock blinked, still stunned. He had not been expecting this. His mouth opened and closed a few times before his brain kicked in. He grinned widely and scooted his chair back. He moved to join John down on the floor, "Of course I will John," he whispered and smiled wide._

_ John beamed back at him and grabbed his left hand. Both of the men's hands were shaking slightly as John slipped the ring on, and it was still sticky and coated with cupcake bits but neither of them cared. Sherlock surged forward and wrapped his arms around John and pulled him in for a hard kiss. This would be the single happiest and most heartbreaking moment in his life, but Sherlock would not trade it for the world._

* * *

><p>It was two weeks later that found Sherlock, John, Harry, Lestrade, and Mycroft in a courthouse where Sherlock and John were bonded for life. None of the attendants thought how cruel and ironic it was that John's life was slowly dissipating with each word that was uttered, they only focused on the happiness. Sherlock and John were happy then, even if it was bittersweet; they were happy.<p>

Sherlock didn't notice that tears had leaked from his eyes until one fell onto the hand he had resting in his lap, the other one had his fingers twined around John's, their silver rings glowed in the hospital light. Sherlock's eyes traveled up John's body. He hadn't moved or woken since coming almost a week ago and Sherlock had rarely moved from his vigil next to the bed. He never looked at the clock; it was only a reminded that his time with John was slowly coming to an end, an end Sherlock did not want to accept. Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand and let out a shaky breath. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment at he collected himself, but flew open when John's hand squeezed his own. Sherlock looked at John's face. He could see the way the doctor's eyes were moving under his lids. Sherlock was on his feet immediately and leaning over the man. He brushed his free hand through the doctor's hair.

"John?" he whispered to him, his voice shaking with emotion.

John made a small noise in his throat before his eyes slowly fluttered open. It took him a few moments but slowly his fogged blue eyes landed on Sherlock's broken grey ones. John smiled shakily, "Hey," he rasped and attempted to raise his free hand, but it wouldn't budge; only twitch.

Sherlock was beside himself, "Hey back," he muttered and leaned in to steal a kiss from John; his last kiss.

John sighed and closed his eyes as he collected himself, he opened them again and he could see the understanding in Sherlock's gaze, "I came back to say goodbye," he wheezed and coughed weakly.

Sherlock shook his head and brought John's hand to his lips and kissed the ring on his finger, "Never goodbye John…never," he whispered harshly.

John nodded weakly, "Alright then, not goodbye," he ceded and opened his eyes again.

Sherlock shook his head, "John…_please_," he begged once more and a tear slipped down his cheek.

John's heart clenched painfully, "I'm sorry," he breathed.

Sherlock shook his head again, "John," he breathed as if this plea would be the one to make John's spirit stay.

John tipped his head towards Sherlock, "Sherlock Holmes," he began and his smile grew, Sherlock shook his head, he didn't want John to say it, didn't want the words to slip out into the room because as soon as they were to leave John's mouth this whole thing will become real; too real for Sherlock to handle. "Sherlock…I love you so damn much," John finally uttered and his words were strong, they sounded like they used to before he got sick. He smiled at Sherlock and his eyes fluttered closed again.

Sherlock shook his head, "I love you so much John Watson-Holmes," he muttered and watched as John's chest rose once and then lowered; not to rise again. Sherlock stared hard at the cavity and willed it to rise again, to pull in the air that John needed to make the man live again, but it was useless. A sob racked its way out of Sherlock's chest and he crumbled. He fit his head between John's neck and shoulder and just let himself go. His hand was tight around John's and John's fingers didn't tighten in response. Sherlock wanted them to, God did he want to feel the firm squeeze of fingers in his hand, but it never happened. There would be no life for Sherlock after leaving here today. John wasn't here anymore and Sherlock damned well wasn't going to stick around without him. Sherlock knew that if the situation were reversed that John would continue to live, but Sherlock was not strong enough for that. He couldn't live, not without his blogger.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** My goodness, that actually turned out better than I had thought it would! Again I have no beta and no one to Brit-Pick so let me know if you find errors. I combed through it, but I'm so tired and emotionally drained now that I don't think I found em all . Also, let me know what you all thought in the reviews please! Thanks so much for reading and I'm so sorry to be so evil!


	2. The End of the Beginning

**SCREAM Your Heart Out**

**By: **Raven612

**Chapter 2: **The End of the Beginning

**Summary: **Sherlock joins John in their final journey together.

**Warnings: **There will be a suicide in this story so if you don't want to read it, go back now. I know how hard it can be. There will also be some hints of man on man action. You have been warned.

**A/N: **I'm feeling evil again and I'm craving tears, plus this has been pulling at me for a while now and I don't feel like SCREAM is complete without it. Also, I do not own the song Black Dresses by The Spill Canvas, but I suggest you listen to it while reading this because I've been listening to it while writing and the song it just simply amazing and so achingly gorgeous! Also no Beta or Brit-Pick sooo all mistakes are my own. I apologize for them.

* * *

><p><em>Goodbyes are said and roses thrown<br>And the crowd starts to weep  
>But the irony of the story is when I fell to my knees<br>And began clawing at the dirt in front of the tombstone  
>Of my bashful childhood<br>With you by my side, you're screaming at the  
>Top of your lungs, "let it go"<em>

Black Dresses by: The Spill Canvas

* * *

><p>Sherlock stood next to Mycroft. He didn't hear anything but the constant buzz in his ears; it had been with him for the past three days and he couldn't get rid of it…didn't want to get rid of it. He shifted his feet very slightly. He didn't want to call attention to himself, though he already had all the attention of everyone gathered around him. He didn't want it and he didn't need it. He hadn't looked up once since he and Mycroft had arrived, didn't want to, and he knew he was being childish, but Mycroft wouldn't comment on it.<p>

Mycroft; he'd been constantly at Sherlock's side for the past three days. He was doing personal guard duty because he _knew _what his brother was capable of; what his brother _would _do if he wasn't there to watch and wait and protect. Mycroft shifted too when Sherlock did and leaned a bit more against his umbrella. The sharp point of it dug a bit further into the soft earth around him. He held his head high; respect and admiration clearly written on his features as the preacher spoke about John Hamish Watson.

John. Hamish. Watson. An army veteran, war hero, and doctor. He was the heart that Sherlock didn't know he had needed; the one vital piece of his being that he'd ignored for so long. John had started as Sherlock's flatmate and evolved into the very heart of the seemingly heartless man. John was everything Sherlock wasn't. He was love embodied. He was the promise of home and happiness. He was the light at the end of the tunnel, and most of all he was _just _himself. He was the man Sherlock loved and would love from now until forever.

* * *

><p><em>There was not a single moment Sherlock could pick out that he could say was the moment he had fallen in love with his flatmate, but one night, standing in the middle of an alley catching their breath, Sherlock glanced up and over at John who was bent over with hands resting on his knees. His face was flushed and red tinted his cheeks. There was a light bite to the air and it felt heavy. Sherlock knew it would rain any moment, but he didn't care. He was seeing John all over again. A man who killed a cabbie on their first night together to protect him, a man who didn't let bombs strapped to his person affect him, a man who was a constant in his life.<em>

_John felt eyes on him and looked up to see Sherlock staring at him. John blinked and looked down at himself, "What? Did I step in something?" he asked and lifted his shoes to see if he'd hit the excrement of some dog whilst jogging after jewel thieves._

_Sherlock grinned and shook his head, "Ah, no…you alright?" he asked because he had to say something, he couldn't just carry on staring for no reason without John being suspicious._

_John furrowed his brows and with a deep breath stood up straight. "Yes, fine, I'm fine. Just a bit out of shape, but I'll work on that," he assured with a slight smirk._

_Sherlock nodded and was unconscious of his feet pulling him towards John._

_John tipped his head and studied Sherlock as he slowly moved closer, "Uhm…Sherlock, are _you _okay?"_

_Sherlock nodded._

_John nodded as well, "Uhm, okay then…well then we sh-" John found himself cut off as his flatmate's mouth pressed against his own. John was dumbstruck for a few seconds and could only stand there and let Sherlock kiss him, but then his brain booted up again and his hands went to Sherlock's chest. He had meant to push the man away, but Sherlock stepped back with a sudden intake of breath._

_Sherlock stared down at John. John stared back up at him. Neither of them blinked, and for a second it was the most perfect moment, but then John's brow furrowed and he brought a curious hand to his lips._

"_Uh…Sherlock…what was that?" he asked the detective, bewilderment still very clear on his features as well as curiosity._

_Sherlock's brain was blank. This was the first time it had ever happened to him. He knew he hadn't completely offended John because John had been with other men before, but not many and Sherlock had been with no one…ever. Sherlock's tongue peeked out and coated his lips. He nearly melted as the taste of John engulfed him again. He blinked slowly._

"_Sherlock, I'm waiting for an answer," John tried again, this time impatience tinted his voice._

_Sherlock's brain finally fired up again and his steely grey eyes met John's. Sherlock smirked, "I want you John…I want you to be with me and only with me," he said._

_John blinked and his back straightened a bit before a wide grin broke across his face and then he doubled over with laughter. He'd never figured Sherlock Holmes to be the practical joking type, but this…this was just golden. Sherlock's own spine snapped to attention as he watched everything unfold with John. He was hurt; he had figured John would take him seriously. He frowned tightly and a cold drop of rain hit him square on the forehead._

"_Oh…oh Sherlock…that's bloody rich!" John hiccupped and looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock was not smiling nor did he look remotely happy._

"_It wasn't a joke, John. I was completely serious," Sherlock snapped and turned on his heel._

_John blinked and could only stare after the detective. The rain was starting to come faster now. John would never have guessed in a million years that his stoic flatmate had romantic notions towards him, and in that few seconds before his feet started moving, he felt a swelling of pride and was quite pleased with himself for becoming so important to Sherlock. He even grinned a bit. Of course John had been attracted to his gorgeous flatmate, but Sherlock had made it clear upon their first dinner together that he was married to his work and did not want anything anymore complicated than that. John could live with that then because he was into women then and wanted a family and a fairly normal life. He'd seen Sherlock as a useful stepping stool in that part of his life that would allow John to wake up and join the world again. What John had not counted on was that he was soon feeling differently towards his flatmate and had found himself fantasizing about what every pale inch of skin would taste like and how they would look entangled with one another in bed._

"_Wait! Sherlock, stop," he called as soon as his voice returned to him. He started to jog after the lanky detective who had pulled his coat collar up to shield against the rain. _

_Sherlock didn't stop, nor did he turn around to face John._

"_Sherlock, please, I'm sorry I just…I didn't think you'd ever feel that way," John said as he finally caught up to the man._

_Sherlock gave him a scathing look from the corner of his eye, "When had I ever been known to joke about _anything_?" Sherlock snapped back as he stopped walking._

_John chewed on his lower lip and looked away for a minute. God, he really had gone and fucked this up. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. He heard Sherlock starting to shuffle away so he lifted his right arm and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's arm. Finally John opened his eyes. He had to blink against the rain. It was really coming down now and both men were soaked. He tipped his head as he studied Sherlock. Sherlock lazily blinked back with his brows furrowed. He hated when John was hard to read._

"_You're right…you really don't joke about anything but…that…well it caught me off guard Sherlock," John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck while he tipped his head a bit to look up at the man._

_Sherlock blinked down at him and rolled his eyes, "It was supposed to be spontaneous. All the websites say it's more romantic if you surprise your lover by kissing them at random."_

_John blanched at the explanation and nearly choked on his own tongue as he fought valiantly not to chuckle, "Yeah, if you're already romantically involved with someone, then it goes over better, not if you two aren't at that stage…which we aren't at that stage Sherlock," John sometimes doubted the intelligence of Sherlock in moments like this._

_Sherlock frowned and turned back towards the street shrugging out of John's grasp, "Then I apologize for misreading you and the whole situation," he mumbled._

_John sighed, he was angry now. He rubbed a hand over his face and looked to the heavens as if they could provide him any sort of help. He glanced towards Sherlock who stood just outside the entrance to the alley. In that split second John made another life changing decision. _

_He steeled his shoulders like the good soldier he was and marched towards Sherlock's back. He was determined now, and nothing was going to stop him, not even the fact that Sherlock was currently texting someone, most likely Lestrade. John needed to show Sherlock what he wanted to say. Rivulets of water cascaded down his face and his back. He shivered from the coolness. He was just inches away from Sherlock now. He reached out and grabbed both upper arms of the taller man. He spun Sherlock around and pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet and mashed his lips against Sherlock's._

_Sherlock was stunned when he felt the colliding weight of John pressing against him and the man's slick lips sliding against his own rain soaked ones. A small gasp left his cupid bow lips and John's eager tongue took full advantage. Sherlock snapped his eyes shut and dropped his precious cell phone into a puddle as his arms hurried to gather his blogger closer to him. A small moan emanated from one of them, but Sherlock refused to stop the assault on his and John's lips to find out who did it. Sherlock didn't even let the fact that they were snogging in public deter him from this. His fingers curled into the material of John's coat and pulled him desperately close to him. The rain fell heavy now and washed away any of the fears either man might have had in that very perfect moment._

* * *

><p>Sherlock felt a slight pressure on his arm. He blinked very slowly before looking up just a tiny bit at Mycroft. Mycroft nodded. Sherlock shook his head and his fingers tightened around the brittle stem of a rose. Mycroft pushed then very gently on Sherlock's lower back. Sherlock shook his head again.<p>

He didn't want to move unless it was to go back to Baker Street. He didn't want to acknowledge the reality of what this day was. He did not want to finally realize that his heart was gone for good. His fingers wanted to tighten around the rose stem, but Sherlock willed them not to. He didn't want to break the already brittle stem, but it was falling apart in his grasp, just like John had fallen apart too. Sherlock made a sound and tucked his chin back against his chest. Mycroft moved a step forward to shield his little brother from the eyes, the eyes that were full of pity and loss. He waved everyone past.

Sherlock could see the shoes of everyone that walked by. He named them all off in his head as they passed. He tried to seek comfort in the mundane action, but comfort was an illusion. He shifted his weight again and watched the same shoes pass by again. He heard the voices of their owners when they stopped to talk silently with Mycroft. He vaguely heard what they were saying.

"So sorry,"

"If there is anything we can do,"

"It's so heartbreaking,"

"He was a good man,"

"He shouldn't have gone the way he did,"

"Please give my sympathy to Sherlock,"

"My brother loved you very much and I'm sorry he's gone,"

Sherlock's head snapped up then and his eyes met Harry's. She didn't smile or frown. Tear tracks lined her cheeks. Her shoulders were set and her eyes were clear. She'd been sober for the past five months. Sherlock blinked slowly as he looked at her and then he stumbled. His heart seized and his eyes blinked rapidly. His hands began to shake and his breaths came out hitched.

* * *

><p>"<em>Sherlock, this is Harriet, Harriet this is Sherlock," John said as he and Sherlock entered the restaurant and a woman stood to greet them.<em>

_Sherlock eyed her from head to foot and frowned. She'd had three drinks already. He had hoped that she would have staved off until after for her brother. His frown grew as he raised his hand to shake hers. She was studying him too and Sherlock smirked wondering if she'd be able to see that he and John had just shagged an hour before coming._

"_Nice to finally meet you Mr. Holmes," she greeted with a calculating smile._

_Sherlock frowned, she couldn't know, "And you Miss Watson," he countered to her 'Mr. Holmes.'_

_She grinned then and shook her head, "If you're shagging my brother you can call me Harry," she said and nudged him with her shoulder._

_Sherlock furrowed his brows and glanced down at John. John grinned and shrugged, "I never said she was stupid," John defended, "and I never told her that we uhm…that…ah, should we sit?"he suddenly asked and moved around Sherlock and Harry._

_Harry watched him with a smug smirk, "Please," she said and let John lead the way behind the host._

_Harry wasn't as short as John, but she wasn't as tall as Sherlock either. She was average height for her age and gender. Her hair was thick and hung loose to her shoulders. It had a slight curl to it and side swept bangs. Sherlock could tell her hair was the same color as John's, a soft wheat, but she dyed it darker. Her dress was business casual and actually very well put together. Sherlock, for a short moment, forgot that she was a complete drunk and that her relationship with John was a bit jagged. He also saw the stress on her face from her struggle with the bottle and trying to work things out with Clara._

"_This work?" the host asked with a smile as he motioned to the table he stood next to._

_John nodded and moved to take the chair on the inside of the table and Sherlock sat next to him. Harry sat across from Sherlock. She looked over at him with a grin. Sherlock narrowed his gaze. She was going to play judge, and Sherlock didn't think she should. He held himself rigid and tucked his napkin around his thighs. John looked between then nervously._

"_So, a consulting detective hm?" Harry began as she picked up her water glass._

_Sherlock nodded and looked bored immediately, "Yes, I don't think I need to explain it since I know John has told you everything about it," he sighed and then frowned at the slight kick John gave him under the table._

_Harry grinned, "No, I suppose you're right, just trying to make small talk," she piped with a grin and then turned to her brother._

_They continued with small talk and Sherlock only giving what information was asked of him, but then somewhere in the night, Sherlock started to like Harry. He could see that she did care very much for her brother; he was her only living family after all, and she was protective of him, something Sherlock admired above all. He knew that despite the alcohol, John cared very deeply for his sister and it hurt him how she was choosing to live her life. For the pain that Harry caused John made Sherlock not entirely accept her. Since that night Sherlock and Harry had only seen each other in random intervals and exchanged small talk until the night five months ago when she had decided to quit her drinking._

_Sherlock was pulled from a deep slumber by something…something annoying. He groaned and turned his head to face his partner who just continued to slumber next to him. Sherlock frowned, it wasn't fair. John could sleep through anything. Sherlock groaned again and nudged the doctor's shoulder._

"_John, wake up, your phone is ringing," Sherlock huffed and pushed him a bit harder._

_John groaned and buried himself deeper in the mattress, "Not now Sherlock I'm sleeping," he muttered and burrowed in his pillow._

_Sherlock frowned and reached across John's body to grab his cell phone. He frowned when he saw the number, he nudged John harder, "John, you might want to get this, it's the hospital," he said._

_John's eyes snapped open and he sat up. He grabbed his phone before it could ring its last, "Hello?" he muttered in a worried tone._

_Sherlock frowned. He didn't like John worried._

"_Yes, I'm John Watson, what's wrong?"_

_Harry must have drunk herself dumb and ended up in the hospital again. Same old news._

"_What!" John snapped and sat up in a hard and rigid stance._

_Sherlock blinked, it wasn't the usual._

"_I-is she okay?" John asked now as he slid his feet over the edge of the bed._

_Sherlock followed._

"_What happened?"_

_Sherlock undressed and pulled the clothes from the floor on._

"_Are you sure she was driving?" John asked his voice hard now._

_It really wasn't good and Sherlock jumped when John slammed his phone down on the dresser._

"_God damnit!" John yelled and hit the dresser again._

_Sherlock cringed and took a step towards his lover, "John?" he whispered reaching for the man who now stood motionless at the dresser._

_John didn't move or make a sound for a few minutes. Finally he heaved a sigh and turned and flung himself into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock rocked back a bit before his arms wound tightly around John. Soon he felt the wet hotness soaking his sleeping shirt. He sighed and brought one of his hands up to card softly through John's hair._

"_There was an accident Sherlock," John muttered wetly into Sherlock's chest._

_Sherlock had deduced as much, he tucked John into him, "They're going to be okay John," Sherlock whispered and smoothed his hand along John's back and between his shoulder blades._

_John nodded against Sherlock and squeezed his eyes shut, "They could have died though," he said and held tighter._

_Sherlock nodded, "But they didn't."_

"_Harry was drunk. She and Clara were having a good night, reconnecting and trying to get back on track, everything was going well. She had texted me earlier saying she was confident they were making headway in their relationship, but then…then this happened. I don't know what to do," John muttered again as he pulled himself together. He sniffled and leaned back to look up at Sherlock._

_Sherlock frowned as he looked down at John. He reached up and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears away. He smiled in a comforting manner and his hands drifted to gently hold John's neck. He leaned down and kissed each cheek. He tasted the saltiness. "We'll go see them," Sherlock offered and his hands slid along John's arms and gently gripped his hands._

_John nodded, "Yeah," he said and he looked to be about a million miles away. He refocused and smiled up at Sherlock, "Thanks Sherlock, I love you," he breathed and pushed himself up so that he could kiss Sherlock's lips. He smiled slightly as he settled again._

"_I love you too John," he whispered and bent to kiss him quickly again before the doctor turned away and got dressed._

* * *

><p>"Sherlock," Mycroft said as he reached for his brother.<p>

Sherlock saw it and cringed away. Tears, fresh and hot started to run down his cheeks. Very suddenly he realized where he was and why he was there. His hand tightened once more around the rose in his hand. He looked down. The flower was dead. His heart was dead. He wanted to be dead. He would be dead.

He looked back up at Mycroft, and for the first time in years, Mycroft looked broken. He was torn. He had no clue how to best support his little brother. They were no longer seven and fourteen. Mycroft couldn't ruffle those black curls and say it would all be fine again, because it wouldn't. He knew just as well as everyone in attendance that Sherlock Holmes, the man who had no heart, was watching it be taken away from him; _forever._

"I'm sorry Sherlock," Harry said once more and walked back to take her place next to Clara.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said again and nodded to the rose that Sherlock held.

Sherlock looked at his brother. He was broken and a mess, he shook his head again, "No Mycroft, I can't," he muttered.

Mycroft frowned and leaned a bit more on his umbrella, "Sherlock, it's time to let go," and the instant he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Rage boiled over in those stormy grey eyes and Sherlock's jaw tightened. He stood up straight now, "I will _never _let him go," Sherlock hissed painfully and set his shoulders in a determined manner.

Mycroft frowned and shook his head, "That's not what I meant Sherlock, I apologize, but it is time," he said and nodded to the rose Sherlock held.

Sherlock looked down again at the flower in his hand. Its once red petals were now a muted shade and flat. The stem was a mix of brown and green and dry. The flower itself wasn't all that special to an outside observer, but to Sherlock it was _everything_. It was the rose that John had left for him on the night he had proposed to the detective. The night that Sherlock's life really began and started to end. He stared at it. It was one of many things that linked Sherlock to his heart. It was a tie he never wanted to sever, and one that would never be severed. Finally, he took a step forward. It was a single step, but it held so much meaning. It was the beginning of Sherlock's own journey to his end.

* * *

><p>"<em>If you could pick a flower, any flower, which would be your favorite?"<em>

_Sherlock frowned and tired to ignore the mundane question. He leaned forward a bit more to examine his experiment. He poked at one of the pods growing in the Petri dish._

"_Sherlock, it's a serious question," John retorted and snapped his paper over to glare at the detective's back._

_Sherlock glared at his blob, "I don't like flowers of any kind John and I would never appreciate any from you."_

_John frowned, well that stung, he flipped his paper back up, "I'm curious and I haven't heard your voice in two days. I was starting to think you'd lost use of it or forgot how to talk," John snorted and glared at the words printed on the pages in front of his face._

_Sherlock ignored the obvious carrot dangling before him and went back to his task at hand. Silence ticked on and seemed to stretch harrowingly before the detective. He could feel the disappointment coming off of John in waves. He frowned and set his tools down. He glared at the opposite wall. He crossed his arms like a petulant child._

"_Roses," he said flatly._

_John blinked behind his paper and furrowed his brows. He lowered the paper again and stared across as Sherlock. "What?" he couldn't believe his answer, it was much too pedestrian. He was expecting something much more complex._

_Sherlock blinked, "Roses John, I said roses."_

"_Well yeah I heard that but…why?"_

_Sherlock frowned and turned to look at him, "I only recently started to appreciate them because in the language of flowers they represent love."_

_John blinked, "Language of flowers?"_

_Sherlock nodded and turned back to his cluttered table. He rummaged around in the mess for a moment before coming back up with a book. He threw it at John, "The language of flowers," he said and turned back to his experiment._

_John looked down at the book that landed in his lap and grinned, "So I see," he muttered and picked it up._

_For two weeks following that little chat, Sherlock and John used flowers to leave messages for one another. Sherlock usually said 'sorry' or 'I love you' while John's messages ranged from cheeky to all out sweet. Sherlock never admitted to John just how much he enjoyed coming home on the rare occasion without him only to find a flower arrangement waiting for him. It was always the small things that touched Sherlock the most, and until John, he'd never thought such trivialities mattered to him._

* * *

><p>Sherlock was now facing the abyss. His toes were at the edge of a six foot hole. There was a glossy brown box in the bottom of it. A gentle breeze flitted through Sherlock's mess of dark curls. His fingers on his right hand flexed and relaxed as his jaw twitched. He was looking down at his heart. He was seeing the beginning and end to his world. A world he had originally constructed for himself and he alone. A world he barred everyone from for specific reasons. Emotions were a mess and they interfered in a person's life too much and caused stupid things to happen. Sherlock had strictly followed these rules, the rules he had set up for himself because he didn't want to face what he was facing now. He didn't want to feel the agonizing thump of each beat of the muscle in his chest. He didn't want to feel like he was now; he never wanted to feel like he did at this moment in time.<p>

Sherlock ducked his chin into the blue scarf around his neck. Dark spots erupted like fireworks as his tears hit the material. He didn't care anymore about anything. Everything was meaningless. The lives he had once strove to protect, though he swore he only did it for the challenge, they didn't matter. Everyone and everything outside of that six by six hole was meaningless to Sherlock.

"_Don't do it Sherlock, don't…just please don't." _

The voice so familiar, so achingly recognizable; Sherlock shivered and closed his eyes, "John," the word moved out of his lips in a quiet whisper. It traveled along the light afternoon breeze until it was lifted somewhere Sherlock couldn't reach. He kept his eyes closed for a moment entertaining the idea that when he opened them he'd see John standing in front of him in some hideous jumper just to grate on his nerves. A small smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. He believed his mental image for a small second. In the tiny second Sherlock's whole body relaxed and his constant torment was gone.

"John, come home please, the flat is dirty," he whispered a bit more forcefully this time and then opened his eyes. He blinked, confused for a moment. John wasn't there. John would _never _be there again. He looked down again and experienced a moment of excruciating pain. His free hand clenched into a painfully tight fist. The sting of tears started anew. His scarf was slowly becoming soaked with the salty water that trailed down Sherlock's prominent cheek bones.

"You were never supposed to leave me, remember John, remember that promise you made?" Sherlock's choked sob rattled from his chest.

* * *

><p>"<em>John?" Sherlock was tracing lazy patterns along the sweat slicked chest of his lover as they lie in their afterglow of coital bliss.<em>

_John was absently running his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls. He looked down at the man lying on his chest; he smiled warmly and fought back a cough, "Hmm?"_

"_Can you promise me one thing above all else?"_

_John grinned, "I won't throw your body parts away when I find them," John sighed again, this time he couldn't hide a cough that leaked from his chest._

_Sherlock furrowed his brows and shuffled his way up the bed. He shifted a little so that he was sitting slightly behind John. He wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and pulled him close, "John please, I'm trying to be serious," he pouted._

_John chuckled lightly and tipped his head back. He brought his arms up to hold Sherlock's securely around him, "I'm sorry, what is it love?"_

_Sherlock blinked as he looked across the room. He counted to ten before he looked down at John in his arms. He managed a weak smile. He tipped his head a little and then pressed a kiss to John's sandy locks before speaking, "Promise me that you will never, no matter what; leave me."_

_John furrowed his brows and tipped his head against Sherlock's chest and looked up at him, "Sherlock…I…you kno-"_

_Sherlock glared, "No, not…not in that sense…" he said and trailed unable to find the right word to express what it was exactly he was asking John to promise him._

_John nodded; he knew what Sherlock was asking. Sherlock usually seemed to be at a loss when it came to matters of the heart, an area John understood well, so he jumped in to translate what it was Sherlock was having trouble voicing. He smiled and pulled himself from Sherlock's grasp. He settled himself in a kneeling position directly in front of Sherlock. He looked into those grey eyes he loved to very much. He reached out with his right hand and settled it gently over the spot on Sherlock's chest where his heart beat below his finger tips. Sherlock lowered his head to look at the hand John had on him._

"_I know what you're asking Sherlock and of course I promise it. I am never going to leave you. I never want to. You are everything that I have ever needed. You are my life. You are the reason I am alive today. You are the man I love…as annoying as you can sometimes be," he grinned cheekily before continuing, "but no matter what has happened or what is to come I, John Hamish Watson promise to never, ever leave you Sherlock. Not as long as you carry me in your heart."_

_Sherlock saw a wet spot appear on John's hand. He blinked and then looked up at the man kneeling before him. Sherlock managed a shaky smile, how was it that John always, without fail, understood and translated his heart for him. Sherlock reached up with his left hand and covered John's that lie against his chest. He curled his fingers around John's hand, another feeling of never letting him go washed over him. He lifted his right arm then and cupped John's cheek with his hand and brushed his thumb gently across his skin._

"_John…I can't…I just can't," he choked and leaned forward and pressed his lips bruising to John's as an overpowering want to possess the doctor washed over him._

* * *

><p>Sherlock shivered at the memory. It was true though, John hadn't left him, not really. Sherlock forever carried him in his mind. Sherlock lifted a hand then and rubbed it along his cheek and imagined that it was John doing so. He leaned into his own touch, "John…please," he begged again. He felt his knees beginning to wobble. He chastised himself before snapping them back to attention. He would not fall, not here, not at the foot of the grave where his heart was laid before him.<p>

Sherlock blinked back the damned tears in his eyes. He heard a faint cough behind him. He knew he was not being rushed. Everyone that stood behind him understood just how much this moment in time was affecting him. What they could not imagine, ever, was just how ardently Sherlock loved…loves John. How much that his love is appreciation for the man who came into his life and had left such an impact on him. After today everyone behind him would go back to their mundane lives. They'd continue on in their useless existence. They would get over this little upset in their lives and they would _live._

Sherlock wouldn't. He had no life to get back to. He didn't even care that he would leave Mycroft behind to look after mummy on his own. He didn't care that he'd leave Lestrade desperate for help on new and interesting cases. Didn't care he'd let a psychopath continue on to play games with the lives that resided around him. Sherlock just did not bloody care about anything right at this moment, the moment where he stood on the precipice of life.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sherlock raised the arm that held the pressed rose. He leaned forward a little so that his hand was over the gaping hole. Sherlock's eyes moved down slowly to look at the box. A heap of flowers already littered the lid. He grinned slightly to himself as he recalled the language of flowers and deciphered what all the flowers lying there on John's coffin meant. It was a bit absurd, but it was a memory he and John shared and he could almost…_almost _hear John giggling along with him.

"I love you John," Sherlock whispered as his fingers uncurled from around the delicate stem of the dried flower. The flower floated gently along the air current. It took its time in reaching John, almost like it knew what would be meant the minute it touched the glossed wood. It stared up at Sherlock, a whispered apology on its petals before it finally snuggled in amongst daisies and carnations.

"_See you again, Sherlock, my love," _the breeze whispered through the trees and wrapped around Sherlock. Sherlock shivered and backed away from the hole. Mycroft met him halfway and led him carefully back to where they were standing. The rest of the service passed in murmurs and tears. Sherlock stood rooted and watched as workers began to pour the dirt back into the hole covering up his heart for good. Sherlock shivered and turned on his heel with his hands shoved into his pockets. He stalked towards the black car waiting for him.

Mycroft turned slowly allowing Sherlock room. He watched sadly as Sherlock stalked off. He sighed, he wondered if either of them was strong enough to overcome this and Mycroft wondered if he'd be strong enough to face what was coming. He knew what Sherlock planned to do and he was smart enough to know that no matter what he did, Sherlock would get his way.

* * *

><p>Sherlock shook Mycroft. He knew he didn't have much time, he didn't want much time. He needed to get done with the next stage soon. This pain that was engulfing him was becoming unbearable. He had always thought himself a strong man, indifferent to the world and its going-ons. He was an observer. He didn't let the outside in, but now that one vital part had gotten in and then vanished, Sherlock couldn't face the outside anymore. He slumped against the door to his flat. He pulled in a deep breath and reached up and tore his scarf off. He threw it off to the side and strode over to the mantel. He ignored the skull.<p>

"Remember I didn't promise you I wouldn't do this John," Sherlock said and turned in a circle looking over the flat before picking up the box.

He flipped the lid off and stared down at the needle there. It was a lethal injection, what they use in the states to kill murderers. Of course he'd made his own, never knew when it would come in handy, like today. Sherlock placed the needle on the table next to his chair. He then went into his and John's bedroom. He needed to be close to John while he did this. He needed to feel him.

Sherlock removed the grey shirt he had been wearing and tossed it aside. He then rummaged through the dirty laundry until he found John's favorite jumper. Sherlock bunched it up and lifted it to his face. He buried his nose in it. His shoulders hunched up as if he could fold himself up neatly and cuddle inside of John's jumper and never come out. Slowly he pulled the fabric from his face and stared at it. He was surprised to find it void of any tears. He smirked a bit at the small triumph. In a flash of movement he pulled the small jumper over his head and shoved his hands through the arms. The jumper was a little snug on him and didn't completely cover his torso, but he didn't care. He went back out into the living room. He went to his chair and sat down.

Sherlock looked out across the expanse of space to the empty chair in front of him. Sherlock reminded himself that the chair would be forever empty. No John to ever grace its presence again. Sherlock sucked in a deep shuddering breath. He didn't break his gaze from the chair. He couldn't. Sherlock reached over and grabbed the small box. He set it on his thigh and pulled the needle out. He didn't think twice before plunging it through his skin and into his vein. He pressed the syringe and felt the liquid enter his blood. After all the liquid was in him he pulled the needle out and set it back in the box and set the box on the table next to his chair.

For the first time in three days, Sherlock was content. He leaned back in his chair and let his head loll back. His eyes fluttered shut and his arms sagged at his sides. A small smile curved across his face. A soft caress moved along his neck and over his cheek.

"_So bloody gorgeous,"_ a familiar voice sighed. Sherlock could hear the smile.

"Never as gorgeous as you," the detective muttered quietly. His feet were numb.

"_You never listen to me. You couldn't just bear your way through it could you? Couldn't let me have my own adventure," _Sherlock heard the shake of a head and a slight chuckle.

Sherlock grinned, "John," he breathed and his head tipped a bit further back, "I need you," he whispered. A tear made its way out of his eyes and along his head to his temple where it dripped off.

"_You never needed me Sherlock, I needed you. Thank you for everything you've done for me. For loving me and for pushing me; you could be a downright prat a lot of the time but…nothing could ever make me stop loving you," _there was sadness in the voice now and Sherlock shook his head.

"Don't John; don't be sad, this is my choice. I want to do this…I _need _this," he mumbled. His hands fell off of his thighs and onto the chair he sat in. A soft breeze moved across his forehead. Sherlock groaned and tried to pick up his neck to press into the touch, but his body was beyond responding to him. A faint pounding sounded in his ears. He wasn't sure if it was his pulse or if it was his front door. He didn't care; he could feel the end so very close now. He could feel John now; he was so close to being with John again.

"John," Sherlock gurgled before his body ceased any and all movement.

* * *

><p>Sherlock woke and then cringed when he did. He groaned and lifted his arm and slung it over his eyes. "John, turn of the bloody light," he growled and attempted to turn over.<p>

A light chuckle sounded.

Sherlock gasped and sat up. He blinked against the blinding light before he was used to it. The chuckle sounded to real, so very real and so very John. Sherlock lifted a hand and held it against his forehead. Slowly the light started to fade and his flat came into view. Sherlock groaned, it hadn't worked, he hadn't died.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up."

Sherlock froze from trying to get off the couch. He fell back and blinked. He looked around. His breath caught in his throat. Sitting there in John's chair was John himself. A sad smile on his lips.

"John?" Sherlock breathed. He dared not to breathe. He didn't want to break this dream he was having, not when it felt so perfect.

"I asked you not to do it Sherlock," John sighed and turned to look down in his lap at his fingers there.

Sherlock swallowed and blinked back tears. He got to his feet and stumbled over to John. He fell to his knees before the man who had become his heart. His hands gripped John's thighs tightly as he looked up into the blue eyes he loved so much. Blue eyes he missed so damn much, "John…it's…you're here," he whispered and lifted a hand to gently cup John's cheek.

John smirked and shut his eyes as he leaned into the familiar touch, "No Sherlock, you're here," he sighed and blinked his eyes open.

Sherlock was dumbfounded. He didn't know where he was and how he had gotten to where he was, all he cared about was that his blogger was sitting before him and he could touch him and feel him and most of all, he wasn't sick. Sherlock's smile nearly shattered his face and he shot up and wrapped his arms around John. He buried his head in the crook of John's neck and inhaled deeply of his scent.

John smiled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, "I should be sodding pissed that you're here but…now that you are and now that I'm holding you well…I don't really care," John whispered and turned his head and pressed a kiss to the detective's ear.

Sherlock shivered and pulled back a little to look up at the man, "God John…it was so hard…so hard back there without you," he whispered in a shaking voice.

John smiled sadly and gently ran his finger along the lines of Sherlock's forehead, "I know love, I saw…it hurt me to see you like that," he lifted Sherlock's face and tilted it some. He leaned forward then and fit their lips together.

Sherlock moaned and pulled John roughly against himself. He attacked his lover's lips with reckless abandon. He needed to taste everything all over again. He needed to see if there were any changes to his John. His fingers bunched and tangled in the jumper that John was wearing and Sherlock clung to him as if he was trying to splice them together into one single person.

John was the first to pull back. He had a drunken grin on his face and his fingers were relearning Sherlock's face. "Welcome home love."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So there we are guys. I feel complete now. Please tell me how you liked this! Sorry for the tears, but not really because I want them!


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